


Team Bosamiroh

by orange_panic_archive



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Equalists (Avatar), F/M, Feels, First Meetings, Gap Filler, Hopeful Ending, References to Depression, Relationship(s), Retelling, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_panic_archive/pseuds/orange_panic_archive
Summary: General Iroh came to take back Republic City. Instead, he takes back something else entirely.Or, why didn't General Iroh join Team Avatar?The end of Book One: Air through Iroh’s perspective.
Relationships: Iroh II (Avatar)/Original Female Character(s), Korra/Mako (implied), Mako/Asami Sato
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23





	1. SEA

**Author's Note:**

> It’s election time in the U.S. and I needed something sad and funny and raw and just a tiny bit hopeful. Maybe this is it, and maybe it isn’t, but here we are. 
> 
> Usual caveat that I own none of the LoK copyright. I tried to stick as closely to season one canon as possible -- clarifying that I've only seen the show, not read the comics, so if it's not stated in the show I considered it fair game to make it up. 
> 
> TW: Depression, suicidal thoughts (not detailed)
> 
> G but with a few swear words. As always, I love comments.

Iroh stood on the upper deck of the command ship, lost in thought, his hands resting comfortably behind his back. He’d always found days like these the hardest. The fleet was on a routine patrol in the middle of nowhere, no land for two days in either direction. The sea was a perfectly calm, featureless desert; the sky as flawless as a painted sunset. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go, no problems to solve. Iroh had already done as much exercise as he could do on the ship, which wasn’t as much as he liked but at least kept him busy and tired. If he’d been alone he could have lost himself in a book, but it wouldn’t do for the General of the United Forces to be caught reading on duty. Days like these he was restless, and if he wasn’t careful that restlessness could spiral quickly into the mild depression that had plagued him all his life. 

So, Iroh dreamed.

At the moment, he was thinking of home. He imagined himself on a black sand beach somewhere on the coast, Azaia on one arm, the sound of crashing waves echoing off the wind-carved cliffs. He could practically feel the spray on his face, taste the tang of salt in the air. In the distance he heard the calls of iguana seals—there was a colony not too far down the beach. He turned to Azaia and smiled, excited to show her. But that wasn’t right. Azaia hated the outdoors, or at least anything wilder than the palace gardens. She was cultured, refined; more a sparrowkeet than a sea raven. Iroh shook his head a little, remembering instead a time he’d walked the wild coast of the southern peninsula alone. He’d found the iguana seals fascinating, their huge scaly bodies wet and glistening against the black rocks. He supposed he could have imagined himself in the palace with his girlfriend instead, her laughter ringing down the gilded hallways, but for whatever reason Iroh wasn’t in the mood. Give him sea, salt, adventure, iguana seals, a damned pirate attack, _anything_ interesting to break up the monotony _._ At this point, even a stiff breeze seemed exciting.

He felt a bad mood coming on despite his precautions. He should take another turn about the deck, try to shake it off with a little movement. Maybe he could find something that needed cleaning. They had crews for that, but Iroh took pride in never placing himself above any duty on board the battleship, and let others see him do it to set an example. Besides, there was something satisfying about cleaning, about taking something wrong and making it right. It was the same with ironing. A lot of people thought Iroh was vain because his uniforms were always spotless and pressed, but the truth was that he simply liked ironing. First there were wrinkles, then there weren’t. It was like magic.

Before he could move, he heard footsteps behind him. Iroh turned his head to see a young man in the gray uniform of the enlisted, a piece of paper in one hand. “General, I just received a wire from the Avatar,” he said. 

Iroh started. _The Avatar?_ he thought. _What would the Avatar need that was urgent enough to merit a wire?_ _And why contact me herself?_ He mostly dealt directly with the Republic City council. The messenger held up the paper and continued, as if reading his thoughts. “She says Amon and his forces have gained control of the city. How do you want to respond?”

At first, he said nothing. He was too stunned. The Equalists, in control of Republic City? Iroh had known the city council was having some trouble with the group, but had been assured by Councilman Tarrlock only a few days ago that it was nothing they couldn’t handle. Apparently, things had changed, and fast. If the message was from the Avatar, that meant that not only had she gotten involved, but that the combined efforts of her, the council, and the Republic City police hadn’t been enough. Calling on the United Forces was generally a last resort. 

Well, he’d wanted something to do. _Careful what you wish for, Iroh,_ he thought to himself. At least it hadn’t been pirates.

“Tell her we will be arriving in three days' time,” he said out loud, hoping that he looked grave rather than excited. “And that I look forward to winning back Republic City, together.”

“As you wish, General Iroh,” said the messenger.

***

Iroh hadn’t been to Republic City in nearly a year, but clearly a lot had changed. For one, where the flagship pro-bending arena had stood there was now a faintly smoking ruin. He could barely see it through the thick fog that blanketed Yue Bay, but it was obvious that at least the roof of the building was missing. But the rest had been oddly decorated, almost like for a ball, with long yellow banners and other festive signage that flapped faintly in the gentle breeze. 

The other difference, of course, was that the enormous statue of Avatar Aang that guarded the entrance to Yue Bay had been defaced. A huge mask of some sort hung across its face, turning the friendly countenance into something scowling and sinister. Two long banners draped from his outstretched hand, similar to the ones on the pro-bending arena, each displaying the round black-on-red symbol of the Equalists. The sight made Iroh sick. Though it had been 17 years since Avatar Aang had passed on, Iroh remembered him. A lot of adults had no time for kids, especially important adults, yet Aang had always seemed to have time for him on their visits. Iroh had been shy and quiet as a child, and in a lot of ways still was, but Avatar Aang had always found ways of drawing him out. To see his memory sullied like this was infuriating.

As they passed Air Temple Island Iroh scanned the docks to get a sense of the Equalist’s defenses. But he saw nothing. Odd. They were close enough now that they’d be in range, even for mecha tanks. For a city supposedly under siege, it was entirely too quiet. “Hmm…” he muttered to himself. “Amon had to know we were coming. So why aren’t we meeting any resistance?”

He walked over to the lieutenant on duty, who was looking through a long spyglass. “Anything?” he asked.

The lieutenant shook his head, not taking his eye off the scope. “Nothing, sir. All clear.” 

Iroh frowned at that. The ships were too slow for there to be a true surprise attack. Even if Amon had no warning of their arrival, someone would have seen the fleet half an hour ago at least, even in the fog. More than enough time to prepare… _something,_ even if it was only an alarm _._ “Something's not right,” he said. 

An explosion ripped through the air to Iroh’s right, followed quickly by two more. The blast almost knocked him sideways, and he turned to see a gout of flame erupt from the ship two over from his. Then he saw it. A dark shape just beneath the surface. And another. And another. 

Iroh swore. Mines. No wonder there hadn’t been any shoreline defenses. They’d mined the whole bay. “It's a trick!” he shouted, sprinting to the ship’s intercom. In his hurry he knocked the mic to the floor. He bent and grabbed it as he jammed a finger on the transmitter. “Water and earthbenders, detonate those mines!” he shouted. Men and women in the dark gray and crimson uniforms of the United Forces started swarming onto the decks. They rushed to the railings, eager to work together to explode the mines before they hit any more ships. At the same time, Iroh felt the engines cut out. Thank the spirits he had made a point of recruiting smart captains. It wouldn’t stop their forward momentum, but at least it would slow it, giving the benders more time to attack the mines.

Suddenly he heard a faint buzzing noise. “What is that sound?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer, he ran out onto the deck. The buzzing sound was louder here. Iroh scanned the water for some new threat, but saw nothing. Then he looked up and froze. 

At first he didn’t even know what he was looking at. He’d seen concepts for airplanes, and had even been considering their use in the United Forces, but Iroh had never actually seen one fly. But somehow more than a dozen of the things were heading straight for the fleet. He guessed they weren’t coming to welcome him.

“Firebenders!” he shouted, not even bothering with the intercom this time. “Incoming! Bring those damned things down!” He rushed forwards, pushing his sleeves back. Firebenders meant all of them, himself included. 

Another explosion rocked the ship next to his. Iroh turned in time to see the first squadron of aircraft begin their attack. The planes had incendiary bombs of some sort, big ones, and could drop three or four at a time. All of a sudden it seemed like explosions were everywhere as the ships were attacked from both above and below. Iroh had been in the United Forces his whole adult life and he’d never seen anything get this hot this fast. If they didn’t take these planes down fast, there wouldn’t be a single ship left afloat in ten minutes. 

Iroh skidded to a halt amid the other firebenders at the front of the ship, then joined two other officers at one of the fire cannons. He tried as hard as he could to ignore the rest of the battle, instead focusing on gathering the energies inside him, directing them, all the while not taking his eye off the incoming planes. Then he took a step back, sweeping his arms behind him, and _pushed._ Fire exploded from the palms of his hands in a blast nearly 20 feet long. But it wasn’t enough; the aircraft had been too high. He tried again as another came closer, waiting until it was nearly upon them. He held nothing back, and this time the redirected blast of flame hit the wing, sending the plane spiraling into the sea. But two others had buzzed right past them, dropping their deadly bombs with ease. Landing one out of every three shots wouldn’t cut it. The planes weren’t getting that close to the deck.

Iroh abruptly turned and ran back towards the command center. Only then did he realize that the Avatar had entered the fight. An enormous waterspout erupted off to starboard, nearly a hundred feet high. Avatar Korra floated at the very top. He hadn’t seen her in a few years, but recognized her instantly. Not many teenage waterbenders could do what she’d just done. Good. Iroh could use all the help he could get.

He didn’t wait to see her next move. Instead he pelted for the long ladder that led to the crow’s nest. He’d draw more fire up there for sure, and he’d be exposed going up and down, but he didn’t care. He’d have to risk it, or they’d all probably die anyway. Besides, it was his fleet; his command. If anyone was going down with the ship, Iroh wanted it to be him. He pushed open the hatch and ran out onto the observation deck. The planes were nearly eye-level up here. _Perfect._ He wouldn’t have a fire cannon, but then again, someone of his talent didn’t really need one. 

His first blast hit one nearly dead-center. It exploded in a shower of metal and flame, the burning husk wheeling down into the bay. But he was already onto his next, whirling to keep his momentum as he kicked out with his opposite leg. A second jet of flame erupted from his foot, taking the next plane in the wing. They were fast for mecha, especially compared to an airship, but Iroh was faster. Again and again he fired on the planes, focusing on short, powerful bursts that would hit fast and hard. But instead of learning to avoid him it only seemed to draw the aircraft closer. They clearly wanted to take him out, though whether because they’d identified his rank or because they saw him as a threat Iroh didn’t know. Somewhere behind him he heard another explosion, followed by a terrific splash. That must be the Avatar. If she was having half the success he was, they might have a chance.

Iroh sighted another plane. It was heading straight for him. Good. He waited, holding his fire, letting it get closer. But at the last moment it swerved up. The bottom compartment opened, releasing a shining tube of metal. The bomb fell, carried by the plane’s momentum. Straight at Iroh. The short hard blast of fire he’d meant for the plane collided with the bomb at almost point blank range. It exploded in a blinding flash of light. Iroh felt pressure, and heat. Then, nothing.

***

At first, he had no idea what was going on. His limbs felt heavy and cold, he couldn’t breathe. He started to panic, thrashing at nothing, completely disoriented by the blue-tinted emptiness around him. Then his head broke the surface. Iroh heaved in a breath, choking and sputtering as he gasped for air. Water. He’d fallen in the water. 

“It's all right, I've got you,” said a woman’s voice. Iroh took another big breath and felt the arm around his chest, supporting him above the surface as he coughed out the remaining water. He looked back to see two worried blue eyes. 

“Avatar Korra?” he asked, but he already knew. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

Korra’s face relaxed a little at his voice, evidently grateful that he hadn’t drowned on her watch. Without another word she kicked off with her feet, twin jets of water propelling them towards the shore. Iroh did nothing, letting himself be dragged backwards like a big wet doll. He knew it was probably more than he deserved. 

As the battle faded into the distance, Iroh watched his fleet burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for more of Iroh's (completely fabricated) backstory? One quick adventure can be found in the short (and please note, very M-rated) prequel, My Kind of Stranger, here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169523


	2. SANCTUARY

The Avatar led him to, of all places, the opening to a sewer. Things must be very bad in Republic City if it had come to hiding out underground. Not that Iroh thought it could get much worse. At this point, the best he could hope for is that they’d stopped enough of the planes to allow for some kind of search and rescue. It wasn’t lost on him that, out of everyone, Avatar Korra had saved him. That was no accident. Iroh knew it was his position that mattered, that rescuing the general instead of someone else was a calculated decision. Yet everyone in his command was somebody’s child, parent, spouse, friend. Everyone who hadn’t made it would leave a trail of grief as genuine as any other. It made him ill just to think of it.

He’d already asked the Avatar about returning to his command, but Korra had insisted that he come with her instead. It wasn’t what Iroh wanted, but he went along anyway. He was injured from the bomb blast, but not nearly as badly as he could have been. He seemed to have shielded himself with his firebending, taking all of the damage on his outstretched arm. The explosion had left an ugly burn the size of his fist on the outside of his bicep and torn away his entire left sleeve. The burn hurt like hell, but wasn’t life threatening, and so as long as he kept it clean he could go on without a trip to the infirmary. Besides, he owed Avatar Korra his life, after all—the least he could do was hear her out. And if she really did have some other way to fight Amon, it cost him little enough to evaluate it as an option. It’s not like anything he’d done so far had been terribly successful.

They walked for a few minutes through the dim sewer tunnels, Korra leading him down a path of unmarked turns that she seemed to find familiar. Thankfully they were water outflow and not sewage. Iroh couldn’t get much wetter than he already was, but he hadn’t looked forward to wading in shit to get to wherever they were going. Not only would it be awful, but he knew enough to be careful of his wound while it was open. He’d had trouble with infections before. Iroh kept his right hand firmly over it anyway, hoping to create some kind of barrier until he had time to bandage it. 

Eventually the tunnels opened up into a large area filled with tents and other makeshift buildings. It looked like a temporary encampment, but had clearly been some years in use. “Where are we?” Iroh asked.

“A place some friends of mine knew,” said Korra. “We needed a place to lay low, where Amon wouldn’t have eyes. Everyone knows everyone here, it seems. It’s our hideout for now. Come on, not much further.” The Avatar led him across the open space and through another opening, then out into an adjacent room of sorts. It was stacked with old boxes and various supplies, and a few battered camp beds lined the walls. Three people stood together at the far end of the room, talking quietly; two young men and a woman, all more or less the same age as the Avatar. These must be the friends she’d been referring to.

“Hey!” Korra said. The three turned in surprise, apparently not having heard them coming. Iroh felt a prickle of worry. These weren’t seasoned fighters, then. Whatever the Avatar had planned, he certainly hoped it didn’t rely on nothing but a few amateurs.

“You got him!” said the shorter of the two men. He was stocky, but heavily muscled; perhaps some kind of bodyguard. Bright green eyes shone out of an open, friendly face. The man next to him was taller, nearly Iroh’s height, with spiky black hair and a red knit scarf around his neck despite the fact it was still summer. He seemed more wary than his friend, only nodding to Iroh in acknowledgement. The woman stood between them, looking grave. She was tall; taller than the green-eyed man even, and built like a dancer, all long legs and sleek curves. A cloud of dark hair fell loose around her shoulders. Well, that was interesting. Iroh stood up a little straighter.

“I got him,” the Avatar said proudly. “Everyone, this is General Iroh.” Iroh bowed. She turned to him, then gestured back outside. “Okay, let’s deal with you first.”

“I’m sorry?” Iroh said, not quite sure what she was getting at.

“I’m a waterbender, remember?” she said brightly, ducking through the ragged curtain that served as a door. Iroh followed her. “Have a seat and let me see your arm.” A waterbender, of course. That was handy. In the United Forces, most waterbenders were either healers or combat, but of course the Avatar would have learned both. She’d studied under Katara, after all.

Iroh went and sat down on an overtuned wooden crate. He took his hand off the wound, careful to not pull on it too much. It was worse than he’d thought, a raw, red expanse of burned and blistered flesh. _Great._ Even with healing that was going to scar for sure. The last thing he needed was another scar. He already hated taking his shirt off. He felt like people stared. Korra floated some water out of a pouch at her side and bent it over his injury, moving her hands in a slow circular motion. To Iroh it felt like his arm had been dunked bathwater as the familiar warm tingling sensation of healing took hold. The pain faded a little and he relaxed, releasing tension he hadn’t known he was holding.

The stocky young man’s eyes had widened at the sight of the burn. He seemed to be the friendliest of the bunch, or at least the most talkative. “So, what happened?” he asked Iroh. 

“I was prepared to deal with Sato's mecha tanks,” Iroh said, “but not these new high-speed aircraft.” That was an understatement. Iroh had been so surprised that at first he hadn’t even known to look up. The mines though, he should have seen that. There was nothing new about mining a bay. But he hadn’t looked for it because he’d been told that the Equalists were just a ragtag bunch of bandits. It was arrogance, pure and simple, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. It was clear that everyone, himself included, had underestimated Amon’s resources.

“I know,” Avatar Korra said. “Every time we think we have an advantage, Amon outsmarts us.” 

The stocky young man slumped a little. “No matter what our plan is, he always has a better one,” he said. 

Iroh shook his head, careful not to move his arm. Privately he agreed, but losing morale wouldn’t help anyone. “Amon is winning so far, but we're not out of the fight yet.”

The man grinned at Iroh, the shift in his attitude almost alarming. “I like this man's confidence! So, how are we not out of the fight?”

“A second wave of reinforcements is on the way,” Iroh said, deciding that he should be honest, “but I need to warn them.” He looked at Korra, who had removed the water from his arm, leaving behind a bright pink area about the size of his palm. Iroh gently covered it again with his right hand. It was better than it had been, but far from completely healed. “Do you still have a way to get a message out?”

Korra smiled. “I know just the man for the job.” She turned to the green-eyed man. “Bolin, where can I find Gommu?”

“I got you,” the man she’d called Bolin said. He turned and walked back the way they had come, Korra close on his heels, leaving Iroh alone with the two strangers. Just what he needed. New people made him uncomfortable, and he was already tired. It wasn’t that he was afraid of them. He found people interesting, for the most part, and generally got along well with most everyone once he got to know them. But he never knew the right thing to say starting out, and what he did say usually came out sounding awkward. Azaia did most of the talking at parties, for which he’d always been profoundly grateful.

The other man, whose name Iroh hadn’t caught, sent a sidelong glance at the tall woman. Perhaps they felt as self-conscious as he did? It certainly seemed that Avatar Korra and her friend Bolin were the chatty ones. That was something, at least.

“I apologize,” Iroh said abruptly, standing. He could at least be polite. He bowed a little, first to the woman and then her companion. “I was a bit distracted and forgot my manners. I’m Iroh, and pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you for helping me.” 

“Mako,” said the man, holding out a hand. He froze, realizing that Iroh was still clutching his injured arm, then dropped his hand to his side. “Nice to meet you. And the guy who just left is my brother, Bolin.” Iroh paused at that. Upon closer inspection it was clear that Mako was Fire Nation, by blood if not not by citizenship. His eyes were a rich copper, closer to Iroh’s little sister’s color than his own but not uncommon back home, and his skin tone matched Iroh’s as well. But Bolin, with his big green eyes and pinkish undertone, was pretty much a poster boy for Earth Kingdom heritage. If he and Mako were brothers, that meant their parents likely had a mixed relationship. The idea made Iroh smile. It was still fairly uncommon in the Fire Nation, but he loved traveling, and it always made him feel good to see the benefits of people making their world a little bigger. 

Iroh turned and inclined his head to the young woman. Up close she was quite pretty. She looked a bit like Bolin, in coloring if not in build, though her eyes were a little lighter and her hair darker. Her face was a pale oval, with delicate features that somehow conveyed strength. “And I’m Asami Sato,” she said. Iroh froze. Sato? _Sato?_ “Hiroshi Sato’s daughter,” she added. She must have seen the expression on his face.

“I…” Iroh wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. 

“It’s okay, I don’t like it either these days,” she said. 

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Iroh said quickly. “I’m sorry. I was simply surprised.”

“Yeah, it’s not your fault, Asami,” Mako said. He went over and put his arm around her, then kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself.” 

Ah. So that’s how it was. And another mixed relationship, too. Interesting that of the two brothers she was with the one who looked all Fire Nation. Iroh wondered if things like that might not even register in a place like Republic City. He hadn’t spent much time here, after all. _Perhaps I should give it a try?_ he thought, and then was immediately ashamed of himself. He already had a girlfriend, back home in the capital. Azaia was beautiful by conventional Fire Nation standards; smart, elegant, well-connected, and from a good family as well. Everything a prince could want, or was supposed to want, in a lover. What on earth would Iroh need in Republic City?

“I wasn’t blaming anyone but my father,” Asami Sato said archly, her sharp tone pulling him out of his thoughts. She took a step away from Mako, as if angry with him. “Were you even listening to what I said?” Iroh must have missed something.

“Fine,” Mako said, his brows knitting together in a look that was half annoyance, half exasperation. He turned and walked off in the direction that Avatar Korra and Bolin had gone. 

Iroh looked at Asami, thoroughly confused. But she seemed lost in her own thoughts, a faint frown on her face. He didn’t want to disturb her. It already seemed like he’d gotten in the middle of something he shouldn’t have, and he’d only been here a few minutes. Awkward, indeed. Instead, Iroh sat back down on the boxes, unbuttoned his coat, and untucked the shirt underneath. He brought the bottom edge up to his teeth and started to tear it, having apparently lost his side knife somewhere in the bay. The shirt would be useless without the sleeve anyway, and he couldn’t hold his arm forever.

“What are you doing?” Iroh looked up to find Asami staring at him. He hadn’t thought at all about how he might look to someone else with his shirt rucked up past his stomach and stuffed in his mouth. 

“Bma-hms,” he mumbled through a mouth full of fabric. He spit it out and tried again. “Bandages,” he said, hastily pulling his shirt down. “It’s ruined anyway, and a burn like this will be delicate for a few more days.” Iroh paused, unsure how to put it. “I’ve, uh, had a lot of burns.”

But Asami was shaking her head. “You could have asked, you know. We have a whole medical kit.” She walked over to another pile of supplies, then started rummaging around in a gray metal bin. “Nothing in here will beat waterbending for healing, but we’ve got actual bandages. We’re not barbarians.”

Iroh hadn’t even thought of asking. He’d just assumed he’d have to take care of himself.

Asami walked back over to him, a roll of white bandages in one hand and a small bottle in the other. “Here,” she said, sitting next to him on the box. “Let me see that.”

“I can do it,” Iroh said, reaching for the roll.

“Stop being stubborn, General. Arm. Now.” Iroh stopped, then held out his left arm as he had for Korra. But instead of bending the young woman took it, grasping his forearm with one hand as the other wound the bandages carefully around his bicep. Iroh leaned his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation more than he should. It was a funny thing, human touch. Iroh hadn’t been home in three months and never stayed for long. Otherwise, it was just handshakes and the occasional haircut. He realized it had been a long time since he’d been touched like that, too; gently, by someone who cared that he hurt. He knew there wasn’t any meaning behind it, that Asami Sato was just being kind, but it felt nice all the same. 

“There you go,” she said finally, tucking the end of the bandage into the top. Then Asami shook two pills out of the bottle and handed them to him. “Now take these.”

“What are they?” Iroh asked, holding out his hand as she dropped them in. 

“Painkillers. Nothing too hard, you’ll still have your wits, but they should take the edge off.” 

“Thank you,” he said. He dry swallowed the pills, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste in the back of his throat.

“Wow,” he heard Asami say. She was looking at him with a bemused expression on her face. “You really don’t like to ask for stuff, do you? I have water right over there.” 

Iroh felt his face grow hot and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve gotten used to being self-sufficient.” 

“There’s no ‘I’ in Team Avatar, General,” Asami said. She stood, then held out a hand. Iroh grasped it and let her pull him up, a little surprised by how strong she was. He wasn’t exactly light. “Let’s go find the others. I bet Gommu is ready for your message.”

***

Gommu turned out to be the dirtiest person Iroh had ever seen in his life. Short, with wild gray hair and a patchy, bushy beard, he looked like he hadn’t bathed since before Korra was born. He also reminded Iroh a little bit of Commander Bumi, Councilman Tenzin’s brother who commanded the closest division of the United Forces. He supposed it made a certain amount of sense. Apparently Gommu had been in the United Forces himself before deciding he liked the freedom of the vagabond lifestyle more than learning how to operate a radio. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to imagine Bumi doing something similar. Not at all. Hopefully that boded well for Gommu’s ability to contact him.

It seemed though that Iroh was finally having some luck. Whatever Gommu’s appearance, he hadn’t lost his telegraph skills. “And who is the recipient of this top secret message?” he asked. 

“Commander Bumi,” Iroh said. “Second division of the United Forces.”

Korra raised an eyebrow. “Tenzin's brother?”

“Yes. Bit of a wild man, but the bravest commander you'll ever meet.” Iroh felt the corner of his mouth tick up in a small smile. He knew a lot of the acts he’d just called “brave” Tenzin would likely call “completely insane.” He had known both of them all his life, but the two men couldn’t be more opposite. Seeing them together was always a treat.

“Ready, sir,” Gommu said.

Iroh slowly recited the message he’d decided on. He couldn’t let Bumi and the reinforcements approach the city until he found a way to be sure it was safe. They’d just have to sit tight. “Fleet ambushed and destroyed by Equalist aircraft,” he said. “Retreat to Red Sand Island until my signal. Do not approach city until you receive the all clear.” Gommu looked up and Iroh nodded, indicating that was all.

“What do we do now?” Bolin asked. He looked to Iroh, and he suddenly realized that despite the presence of the Avatar they all considered him in charge. General Iroh and his teenage army versus the entire Equalist rebellion. _Great. Just great._

“Does anyone have a map of the area?” he asked. He didn’t have high hopes. But, as with the medical kit, once again Team Avatar surprised him. Korra held up one finger and ducked out of the room, returning less than a minute later with a rolled up piece of paper about two feet long. She trotted over to a rickety table and spread it out. 

“Will this do?” Iroh joined her, followed by Mako, Bolin, and Asami. Gommu seemed to have faded into the shadows. 

“Yes,” Iroh said. It wasn’t the most detailed map in the world, but it would do in a pinch. “Now comes the hard part. We need to ground those aircrafts. Otherwise, Bumi's fleet will never be able to retake the city.”

Mako pointed at the map, drawing his finger in a line to the northwest. “They flew in from this direction. The airfield must be somewhere over this mountain range.” That made a certain amount of sense. A staging area for that many aircraft would have to be both large and secret, with enough flat ground for a runway. A mountain valley would be ideal, and without anything else to go on, it was as good a place as any to start their search.

“Everyone get ready,” Iroh said. “We leave at dawn.” 

They were halfway back to the room with the camp beds when he heard Korra say, “Wait.” Iroh, who had somehow found himself leading, stopped and looked back. The Avatar had hung back from the group, her face a mix of worry and defiance. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m not going with you tomorrow.”

“What?” Mako said. 

“Why not?” Echoed Asami. Iroh just stared at her. Hadn’t they agreed on a plan only minutes ago? The notion that he was in charge started to fade.

“I'm sick and tired of hiding from Amon,” Korra said. “It's time I face him.”

“That's not a good plan,” Iroh blurted out, immediately kicking himself. There was probably a more delicate way he could have put that. Well, nothing for it now. “We need to stick together.”

“I'm not waiting for him to hunt me down!” Korra snapped. “My guts tell me it's time to end this, on my terms.”

“Korra, this is not a mission you should be handling alone,” he said sharply. Spirits, that was suicide.

“She won't be,” said Mako. He walked over to stand next to the Avatar. “I'm going with you.” 

_What?_ It seemed like this entire mission had just gone sideways. The priority was taking the airfield so they could get reinforcements. Now, not only were they doing it without the Avatar, but they were down to only three. And of all people, why would Mako be the one to go with Korra? Maybe it was old fashioned, but Iroh would never have sent his girlfriend off on a dangerous mission with only his brother and a one-armed man he just met. Out of the corner of his eye, Iroh saw Asami stiffen. Apparently she thought the same thing.

“You don't have to do that,” Korra said. 

Mako looked at her. “Yes, I do,” he said softly.

Iroh rubbed at his face, more confused than ever. He’d been told often growing up, first with Aang and then as he’d learned about Korra, that the Avatar had access to certain memories and information most didn’t. It wasn’t always conscious, and often manifested more as feelings, instincts. But that didn’t make them wrong. So while it might seem crazy for Korra to go after Amon, she could have good reasons to do so that Iroh simply couldn’t see. And if she must go, he was glad that she wasn’t doing it alone. He’d assumed Mako could firebend, or at least hoped he could, which would give her some backup along with a second set of eyes. Besides, keeping Amon distracted while he, Iroh, took the airfield was a bonus he hadn’t been counting on. On the other hand, of everyone in the party, Korra was the one in least need of protection. She was the most powerful bender in the world. Bolin was just a kid, and while Asami was likely an earthbender she clearly wasn’t the Avatar. Why didn’t Mako want to protect her? _Them._ Protect them.

But ultimately, it wasn’t Iroh’s call. None of it was, no matter how much they’d all looked up to him only a few minutes before. If Korra wanted to go to Amon, and Mako would go with her, Iroh would take care of the rest. 

“My grandfather would respect the Avatar's instinct,” he said. “So will I.”


	3. SHIFT

They had a few hours until nightfall. Iroh had first gone in search of the dirty man, Gommu, and sent a second wire to Tenzin. He wasn’t sure who, if anyone, was still with the ships, but thought it a good idea to at least let someone know he’d survived the battle. He didn’t say much more than that though. Not only did he not know exactly where they were, but if the Avatar had seen fit to hide he wasn’t going to tell anyone their location, not even Tenzin. He also requested a casualty report. Tenzin might not be able to get it, or to wire back if he did, but it was worth a shot. Those had been Iroh’s men and women on those ships, every one, and he wanted to know exactly how badly he’d failed them. 

After that, he’d gone for a walk to clear his head, careful to pay attention to various landmarks. It would be the ultimate irony if he survived the battle with the Equalists simply to get lost and starve to death in Republic City’s sewers. He didn’t encounter many people, and those he did gave him a wide berth. Iroh was tall, and worked out almost every day; even without his firebending he’d be more than a match for most folks down here. Add to that a torn up United Forces uniform, and no one gave him any trouble. 

He was nearly back to where he started when he realized something uncomfortable: no one had told him where the bathroom was. Iroh glanced around at the makeshift tents and hangings, suddenly wondering if there _was_ a bathroom, or if he was expected to just walk a ways down a sewer tunnel and wing it. That part wasn’t too bad; after so many years in the military he’d gone in just about every kind of place imaginable. But it wasn’t the kind of thing one wanted to get wrong, either, especially as a guest. 

Iroh looked around but didn’t see anyone he could ask. He jogged the rest of the way back, but when he pushed aside the tattered red canvas that separated the little room from the large open area he found it empty. “Hello?” he called, just in case, but no one answered. _Damn._ Just as he’d gone for a walk, the others must also be out and about. Iroh crossed the room, then started pulling aside various sheets and hangings, hoping to either find it himself or come across someone who could help. Things were becoming rather urgent.

He swept aside a tall green curtain and stopped short. Two deep brown eyes blinked at him out of a huge shaggy white face filled with teeth. 

“Ah!” Iroh stumbled backwards away from the enormous beast. His feet tangled in something on the floor and he fell, landing on his backside with a teeth-clattering thump. Out of reflex he swept his right hand up in front of his face, pushing fire into his palm to shield himself from whatever terrible thing was now coming for him. Then he heard a quiet giggle.

“She won’t hurt you,” said a woman’s voice. “That is, unless you throw that fire in her face. But I wouldn’t recommend it, General.” Iroh lowered his flames to see Asami Sato walk over to the beast and scratch it behind its floppy ears. He realized a second later that it wasn’t some kind of sewer monster, but a polar bear dog. Of course. He knew the Avatar had taken one as her companion. “He’s okay, Naga,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “This is General Iroh. He’s a good guy.” The beast leaned into her hand and closed its eyes, now looking no more threatening than a koala sheep. She looked down at Iroh and furrowed her brows, then walked over and held out her hand. “I’m sorry I laughed,” she said, as he let her pull him to his feet for the second time that day. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Iroh said, dusting himself off, hoping like hell he wasn’t blushing too hard. A world-class firebender, scared to death of a dog. It wasn’t his fault, he’d just been surprised, but still… He walked slowly over to the polar bear dog, Naga she’d called it, and held out both his hands, palms outwards. “Hello,” he said slowly. He looked at Asami. “May I touch it? I’ve never seen one up close.”

“Her. And yes, I think so. She likes head scratches. That will get her on your good side.”

Iroh reached up and patted Naga gently on the head. Her fur was surprisingly soft, not at all the coarse hair he’d been expecting. She pushed up into his hand and he turned it into a scratch, ruffling the fur behind her ears as Asami had done. “Good dog,” he whispered. “Thank you for not eating my head. I appreciate that.” Naga made a chuffing noise at that as if agreeing that she was, indeed, a good dog. 

“Now that you two are friends, is there something I can get you, General? You seemed to be looking for something.”

“Oh, yes.” Iroh turned back to Asami, then paused. He hadn’t really looked at her, as distracted as he’d been by almost getting his face bitten off, but now he could see that her eyes were rimmed with red. Her makeup was a bit smudged as well. It looked like she’d been crying. “Miss Sato, are you all right?” he asked, taking a step forward. 

She smiled at him, but it looked like a sad smile. “It’s been a strange day,” she said. “I’ll be okay. But thanks for asking.” Then she looked him up and down and frowned slightly, as if thinking. The gesture made Iroh feel oddly exposed, as if he was somehow being evaluated for a test he wasn’t aware of. “Actually, there is something you can help me with, if you’re willing.”

“Name it,” Iroh said promptly. “Consider it payment for your bandage-wrapping services.”

Asami smiled at that. It wasn’t a big smile, but it was real this time, and it changed her face from merely pretty into something almost radiant. It also made Iroh realize how little the young woman smiled. Wow, what a waste, to have a smile like that and not to use it.

“Deal,” Asami said. “But first, what were you looking for?”

***

Thirty minutes later found them in a completely different part of town. At Asami’s insistence Iroh had ditched his red uniform jacket and collar on the grounds that it made him too recognizable. He’d also taken off the one-armed dress shirt, hoping that the white tee beneath looked at least passingly normal. She’d then led him through a series of sewer tunnels to a ladder, the top of which opened into a dim alley. Asami had pushed aside the cover herself, despite the fact that it looked to Iroh like solid steel. He’d been right about her being strong, then. But earthbenders usually were.

“Now what?” Iroh asked once they were both above ground. He didn’t come to Republic City often, and when he did stayed mostly by the docks. He had no idea where they were, and Asami still hadn’t told him what they were doing, either. 

“This way,” she said, and trotted off toward the mouth of the alley. Iroh followed. They came out into a wide street surrounded by tall buildings and lined with various shops. It was dark now, and still relatively early, but the street was oddly quiet. It seemed that, between the Equalists and the arrival of the United Forces, no one much wanted to be out of doors. 

Asami looked both ways, then jogged across the street to one of the shops. A warm yellow glow shone from inside; it looked like some kind of small restaurant or bar. A neon pink sign above the entrance flashed the word “Kashiba’s.” 

She stopped just outside and waited for him to catch up. “This is what you needed help with?” Iroh asked. “Food?”

Asami smiled at him again, her real smile, and he was abruptly glad that he’d decided to come, whatever the mission. “You didn’t have to eat Gommu’s hobo soup last night,” she said. “Besides, this always cheers me up, and you’re our guest tonight anyway. Just wait here and keep a lookout. I’ll be right back.” Then she ducked inside. Iroh peered through the window to see a long room filled with small round tables that, under normal circumstances, might be filled with couples or small groups. An order counter at the far end displayed pictures of various dishes. His stomach growled. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten since that morning. 

Iroh leaned against the door frame, trying his best to blend in on the empty street while he waited. Given Asami’s background he’d expected something fancier, but Kashiba’s looked to him like little more than take-away ramen. Not that Iroh had any objection. Despite growing up in the palace he loved food of all kinds, and had often found he liked little hole-in-the-wall places like Kashiba’s far better than restaurants 20 or 30 times the cost. 

A few minutes later a bell jingled and Asami shouldered her way outside, her arms filled with brown paper bags. “Here, help,” she said, stepping forwards so that he could grab two of the bags himself. 

“Spirits, are you feeding a fleet?” Iroh asked, tucking a bag under his arm so he could grab another. 

“Clearly you’ve never seen Bolin or Korra eat,” she said, balancing the remaining bags and heading back across the street. “And you’re not exactly small yourself. Besides, the leftover soba makes for a decent breakfast. I’m not usually a picky eater, but I’ll be damned if I’m having anything else that came out of the bin.”

They made their way down and back through the tunnels, Iroh all the while trying his hardest not to simply tear into one of the bags with his face. It was probably a good thing his hands were full. Whatever Asami had ordered smelled absolutely amazing. He would certainly have tried hobo soup as well, whatever that was—there was very little he didn’t eat—but he wasn’t exactly sorry about their little side trip, either. 

The truth was, Asami Sato surprised him. Iroh was generally pretty good at reading people, but he was starting to think he’d gotten her wrong. What had at first seemed to him like a rather silent, tense person who was perhaps only here as Mako’s girlfriend was turning out to be someone friendly and kind, with a sly sense of humor and a definite sense of adventure. Competent, confident, and resourceful, it was clear to him now why she was part of Team Avatar. And if she didn’t smile as much as he’d have liked, well, she had more than enough reason. 

After all, she was still Hiroshi Sato’s daughter. Iroh loved his family deeply, and knew they loved him as well. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose respect for one of his parents, let alone come to a point where he felt the need to actually fight them. It would do more than break his heart; it might break him entirely. In that light, the fact that Asami Sato was still standing at all, let alone occasionally smiling, showed an inner strength that was nothing short of heroic. 

By the time they got back Korra, Mako, and Bolin had returned from whatever they had been doing. Someone had started a fire, and they’d dragged a few boxes into a rough circle for seating. No one objected to the take-away, which turned out to be as delicious as it smelled. Iroh sat a little apart from the group, not wanting to intrude too much, instead content to observe as he shoveled warm noodles into his mouth with as much dignity as he could muster. He mentally added Kashiba’s to a list of places he visited regularly at various ports, wondering if he’d have time to give it another go before he left. Because he _would_ be leaving, of course. He could fantasize about living in a place like Republic City all he wanted, but he was rarely on shore more than a few weeks at a time. What would be the point? 

Iroh realized with a jolt that, while he’d sent a message to Tenzin, he hadn’t thought to tell Azaia that he was safe. In fact, he hadn’t thought about her for hours. His family knew enough to contact Republic City council or the United Forces for news, but his girlfriend didn’t, and the battle would be all over the radio. Hopefully someone would think to tell her. He wondered idly if she was worried about him, then thought that the fact he had to think about it was probably a good indication. Azaia had pursued him, and at first Iroh had been flattered to have someone like her so obviously into him. But the longer they were together, the more it felt like her passion was more for his station than for Iroh himself. Her letters to him while he was abroad were empty, filled with gossip and palace intrigue that didn’t excite him in the slightest, and once he’d realized that she was more interested in the jewelry he brought back from his travels than the actual places, his had been just as bad. The sex was all right, and that was nice to come home to, but in the dark Iroh felt like he could have been anybody. Just a warm body she could show off with a tag that read “prince.” She’d only ever said that she loved him in public. He’d never said it at all. He was probably going to marry her anyway.

Iroh had always been a bit of a romantic. Flowers, dates, kisses, that kind of thing. He’d never been great at expressing himself, at least out loud, and liked to let his actions do the talking for him. Unlike a lot of smart, independent women, Azaia actually liked that side of him. They both had good taste, and plenty of money besides, so it wasn't hard to please her. But her expectations were rather conventional, and the few disasters he’d had were the times he’d deviated from her mental checklist of what rich men do for the people they date. Dinner at the fanciest restaurant on Ember Island during a weekend getaway? Great. The long walk to the north beach afterwards to buy ice cream and see the bioluminescent fire clams? They hadn’t even made it two blocks. Instead, Azaia had pulled him into some new exclusive club. It’s where everybody who was anybody hung out, and didn’t he know that? But the only benefit Iroh could find was that it was too loud for him to have to talk to anyone. 

A part of him wondered when he’d given up on love. He wasn’t that old, after all. He knew he was decent-looking, and it didn’t hurt being either a prince of the Fire Nation or General of the United Forces, either. It had never been too hard to get a date if he tried. But as he sat there by the fire, Iroh realized he’d given up all the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love, or anything quite that jaded. It was more that he knew himself well enough to understand that he was looking for something very particular. He’d never been good at half-measures, and felt things a lot more deeply than most people gave him credit for. For him it was either going to be Love, the kind with the capital letter that always seemed to find princes in the stories from his childhood, or it wasn’t. And if it wasn’t, well, there were a lot of benefits to someone like him making a smart political marriage. After all, one didn’t get to be the youngest General of the United Forces in history by being bad at strategy. 

Still, a deep part of him longed to fill that empty place inside with a real companion. Someone bright and brave and confident. Someone who was fun and funny and sexy as hell, all at the same time. Someone with ideas and opinions, and who let that make them curious and interested in the world, not rigid. Someone who thought he, Iroh, was interesting, too. Someone who appreciated not just the date or a gift, but the little piece of himself that he hung like a jewel inside every one. Someone who would really see him—not the part on the outside, not the prince, but _him_ —and want him all the same. It was a lot to ask though, Iroh knew it was. So he didn’t. Ask, that was, not anymore. He had, after all, learned to be self-sufficient.

He slurped up another mouthful of warm noodles. Azaia would have hated Kashiba’s.

“Does anybody know any stories?” Korra asked. Iroh looked up from where he’d been lost in thought to see the fire had burned low. Everyone seemed full and relaxed, but it wasn’t late enough to turn in yet. He wished he’d brought a book. Suddenly he wasn’t much in the mood for company.

Nobody spoke. “Oh, come on,” said Korra. “Nobody?”

Bolin piped up. “Well, there was this one time that Mako got tapeworms, and—” He cut off as his brother glared at him. “And I just remembered that it wasn’t all that funny,” he finished. The little fire ferret, who Bolin had introduced during dinner as Pabu, chittered softly from the young man’s lap. It almost sounded like he was laughing. Iroh tried hard not to smile. Mako had warmed to him the least of the group, and he wouldn’t want to do anything to further set him apart.

“What about you, General?” Asami asked from across the fire. “You must have seen some things.” 

“Nothing that would interest anyone here, I’m sure,” said Iroh. 

“Ooh, come on!” Bolin urged, leaning forwards. “I’m sure you’ve gotten into all kinds of stuff!”

“Yeah!” Korra added. “And huge battles, and all kinds of duels. Didn’t you fight an Agni Kai with that one guy, whatshisname? You’re an incredible firebender, Katara always said so.” That would be his grandfather bragging, Iroh thought. He, Avatar Aang, and Aang’s wife Katara—incidentally, Bumi and Tenzin’s parents—had all been close friends since childhood. Of course Korra would have asked her about other benders.

Asami gave him a small smile. “So how about it?” she asked. “It sounds like you’re pretty brave. Please?” 

Iroh thought for a moment. Most of the stories of the kind they were talking about involved him hurting other people, being hurt himself, or both. He supposed there was courage in there, but he’d mostly been doing his job, and either way he didn't like to talk about it. Too many of the stories were painful; he’d lost friends, and seen and felt things he’d never wish on anyone. He might be United Forces, but Iroh firmly believed that fighting should be a last resort. But she’d said please. She’d called him brave. There had to be something he could say that would seem impressive, but that didn’t involve so much violence.

“Um… I saw a dragon once?” It came out sounding more like a question. 

“There aren’t any dragons anymore,” Mako said. He looked skeptical. “Everyone knows that. There haven’t been in 200 years or more.” 

Iroh smirked. “That’s because the people who see them usually get eaten.”


	4. PEAKS

They gathered the next morning in the large open area outside the room with the camp beds. Iroh had gotten up early and practiced some fireforms, focusing more on the stretching than the actual fire so as not to scare anyone. After many objections on the part of Team Avatar he’d spent the night on the floor, there not being enough beds to go around, and between that and the action yesterday he felt stiff. Next he helped himself to the leftover soba, which was just as good cold as Asami had said it would be. After that Iroh re-lit the fire, grabbed the area map they’d looked at yesterday, and settled down to wait. Sometimes being a morning person was lonely business.

An hour later found the team more or less assembled. Mako and Korra came out dressed in some kind of dark uniforms which Iroh soon learned had been taken off captured Equalists. That was good thinking. They were soon joined by Bolin and Asami. Korra had also brought Naga, the polar bear dog. 

Bolin approached his brother, then threw his arms around him. “Love you, little bro,” Mako muttered, squeezing him tight. Behind him, Gommu began to sob.

“Love you back, big bro.” He released Mako, then walked over to Korra. “Korra, Amon is a nasty dude,” he said. “Be careful.”

Korra stepped forward and hugged him. “I will. Good luck.” She threw a glance at the polar bear dog, then added, “If you're going into the mountains, you should bring Naga.” That was also a good idea. The mountains would still have snow in the high passes, and having an arctic beast would speed things up considerably. Korra gave her dog a hug. “Take good care of Bolin for me.”

Iroh walked over to Bolin, who had climbed up on Naga’s back along with his little fire ferret. Iroh wasn’t quite sure how to get up though. He was a big guy and had a lot of reach, but that also meant he was heavy. Naga’s back came up to the middle of his chest, and he didn’t have a lot of experience with animals. He didn’t want to look stupid though. After a moment’s hesitation Iroh bent his knees and jumped, at the same time pushing a little fire out of his feet to get him up and over the polar bear dog’s back. Absorbed in their own thoughts and conversations, nobody seemed to notice.

Asami and Mako were speaking quietly now, too far away for Iroh to hear. Then she stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. _Good_ , Iroh thought, ignoring the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Whatever tiff they’d been having, they must have made up. Maybe now she would smile a bit more. Asami took a few steps back as Korra joined them. A few more whispered words, then Mako and Korra turned, fading into the dim light of one of the sewer tunnels. Neither of them had said goodbye to Iroh.

Asami Sato watched them go, then trotted over to Naga. She jumped up behind Iroh with practiced ease. There was just enough room for the three of them on the large saddle, Bolin and Iroh being rather big and Asami taking up comparatively little space. 

“Come on, Naga,” Bolin said, rubbing the side of her neck. The huge polar bear dog let out a huff and trotted forwards. Iroh reflexively grabbed on to the edges of the saddle to keep himself from sliding backwards at the same time he felt Asami’s arms wrap around his waist. 

“Oh!” she said, steadying herself. “I’m so sorry, General.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “It’s probably better if you hold on.” But she’d already withdrawn her hands, instead grasping the edges of the saddle as he had done. Iroh could feel her knuckles just brush the backs of his thighs. He shifted his own hands back as much as he could to make sure he wasn’t doing the same thing to Bolin, and they set off.

“Good fortune and success to you, valiant heroes!” called a voice. Iroh turned to see the old man, Gommu, waving from the shadows. Well, at least someone had remembered to wish him luck.

***

A few hours later Iroh, Bolin, and Asami were high up in the mountains. “We must be nearly there,” Iroh said. His years in the United Forces had made him pretty good at dead reckoning, and he’d been marking their distance against what it had looked like on the map. “Everyone be on your guard. If Amon keeps surprising us, we should start by expecting more surprises.”

“Don’t underestimate my father, either,” Asami said behind him.

They were up in the passes now, the ground thick with snow. Iroh had kept up a low level of firebending for the last hour to fend off the chill. He’d always been good at the more delicate aspects of the art, and he’d hardly noticed he was doing it. There were a lot of subtle bending skills that came in handy in life but, because they were both difficult to master and not useful in combat, most firebenders never bothered to learn: keeping warm, heating one’s hands to boil water, even cooking. But as a result Iroh was toasty warm, even with his missing sleeve. His companions weren’t so lucky though. In front of him, he heard Bolin’s teeth chattering. The young man was wearing Pabu curled around his neck like Mako’s red scarf. Iroh turned his head a little. “Are you too cold?” he asked Asami. If needed he could probably get by without his jacket.

“I’m all right,” Asami said. She looked down at her gray and maroon outfit. “The suit’s a special Future Industries design. Thermal regulated, among other things. I use it for racing to keep from overheating, but it works just as well in the snow.”

“You race?” Iroh asked, raising an eyebrow. It seemed like Asami Sato just got more and more interesting.

“I mean, not professionally. But I always get the first go at anything that rolls off the Future Industries line. My fa—” She stopped. “I mean, I’ve been told that if it can survive me, it can survive anyone. My family has a track. I mess around.”

“She’s lying,” said Bolin from the front. He turned and grinned. “Did you know she and Mako met when she ran him over? She’s totally fearless. It’s nuts.”

Asami colored a little at that. “So maybe it’s not always on the track. But really, the way some people drive is infuriating. It’s so inefficient.” She leaned out to the side to see past Iroh. “And I _didn’t_ run him over, Bolin. He walked in front of my bike like an idiot. You’d think someone who grew up on the streets would know to look both ways before crossing one.”

“Wait, you race _motorbikes?”_ Iroh asked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

She looked at him defiantly. “Only if you’re bad at it.”

“And she’s not,” Bolin added. “She even had me add moguls and stuff to a part of the track so she could try out these crazy jumps. Mako just about peed himself watching it but all Asami did was laugh.”

Iroh frowned a little. “Why didn’t you add them yourself?”

Asami shrugged. “A lot faster with earthbending.”

 _Oh. Oh no._ “Miss Sato, you’re not an earthbender?” 

She narrowed her green eyes. “Of course not, General. What gave you that idea?” 

Iroh rubbed at the bridge of his nose and swore softly. “We have to go back.”

“What?” Asami and Bolin both said.

“We have to go back. I’m sorry for the error, Miss Sato, but this is no mission for a non-bender. Perhaps…” Iroh scanned the trees. “Perhaps we can simply send you back on Naga, and Bolin and I can continue on foot. We should be close enough.”

“Like hell,” said Asami. 

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. My father is responsible for what happened yesterday. I’m going to face him, and I’m going to take him down.”

“No. I can’t let you do that. Bolin and I can handle it.”

“Do you need me to kick your ass right here, General? Because I will.”

“That’s hardly—”

“Hey!” Bolin nearly shouted. “Knock it off, both of you.” He looked at Iroh, and for the first time his face wasn’t remotely friendly. “I’ll vouch for Asami. I shouldn’t have to, but I will. She’s a good fighter, and the smartest person I know. We need her. _You_ need her, even if you don’t know it yet. She stays, or we both go. Got it?” Iroh said nothing. “Don’t be that guy, Iroh.”

“What guy?”

“The guy the Equalists think you are.” 

Iroh dropped his eyes. That… was a good point. He had every reason to be impressed with Asami Sato. She’d proven herself more than capable so far. If bending status was the only thing that made him re-evaluate that, he was no better than the people they stood against. “Very well,” he said, turning back around. “And I apologize, Miss Sato. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“And you,” Bolin said, leaning around Iroh to Asami, “be nice to the new guy. His arm hurts, and he lost all his boats yesterday. He’s probably sad about that. I bet it isn’t personal. He just feels responsible and doesn’t want anyone else in too much danger.” Iroh blinked at that. It was amazingly close to the truth. Bolin might seem like a goofball, but it was clear Iroh might have underestimated him as well as Asami.

“Battleships,” Iroh said. “Not boats.”

Asami laughed a little. “I’m sorry too, General. It’s not always easy being the only non-bender on Team Avatar. But I promise, I pull my weight.”

“I believe you.” And he did.

It was another 15 minutes before they saw anything. As they crested another rise, Iroh could see down into a long, narrow valley, the floor of which was almost completely flat. Nestled at the northwest end was a large metal building set in the center of a cleared circle. Five brown tongues of dirt extended off to the south, a half dozen aircraft already lined up for takeoff. Overhead, another airplane buzzed by. It seemed that they weren’t a moment too soon. 

Bolin clearly saw it, too. Without a word he pulled the polar bear dog to a stop and hopped off. Iroh slid to the side, then held up a hand to Asami only to find that she’d already dismounted the other way. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make it look like that’s what he’d been doing with his hand all along. 

“I think we've found our secret airfield,” he said, then winced. He sounded like an idiot. What did it look like down there, a candy shop? He tried to sound more commanding this time. “Bolin, once we get down there, I need you to tear up those runways. We can't let those aircraft take off.”

To his surprise, Bolin saluted him. “Aye aye, captain!” he said, then blanched, apparently realizing his mistake. Iroh hadn’t been a captain in years. He hurriedly made another salute. “Ooh, general, general.” Iroh tried hard not to smile. Bolin was so earnest, he might take it the wrong way. It also made him wonder exactly how old the man was. The Avatar trusted him, but she herself was only what, 16 now? 17? Asami seemed a little older, as did Mako, but that could also be because they were more serious. Regardless, if they were walking into danger, Iroh had to remember that all of them were just kids, though of course he’d been their age when he’d joined up. Still, they were his responsibility.

Well, responsibility today seemed to start with finding a way to the airfield. Iroh started down the steep slope towards the valley, trying to pick out a safe path through the snow. Behind him the polar bear dog whined. 

“All right,” Bolin said, “you guys wait here until we get back, okay? Uh-uh, stay.” The polar bear dog whined again, and the little fire ferret added a small chirping noise. Apparently they didn’t like being left behind. But when Bolin turned back to join Iroh and Asami, they stayed where they were on the ridge.

It was steep, and though they’d all worn boots it was impossible to see the sticks and rocks under the snow. Iroh was the heaviest of them though, so if whatever was on the ground held his weight it should be safe enough for Asami and Bolin. “Try to step where I step,” Iroh said softly. They were close enough now that being overheard was a risk. Every ten feet or so he would look back to make sure everyone was okay. He saw Asami taking a big step, trying to land her foot in the path he had made, and Iroh abruptly shortened his stride. 

When they were nearly down the slope he called a halt. The hangar was now only 200 feet or so in front of them. He didn’t see anyone, but Iroh wasn’t fooled. No one would leave planes out like that in the cold and then pack up to go home. Sure enough, a moment later the one that he’d seen overhead came in for a landing, then taxied into the hangar. It must have been a test flight.

But the hangar had no windows, at least on this side, so there was a chance that if he couldn’t see anyone inside, no one inside would see them approach, either. With Bolin to destroy the runway and Iroh to fire on the planes, they could destroy half the mecha before anyone even raised the alarm. 

“All right,” Iroh said softly, holding up a hand. “Here’s the plan. Once we get to that fence, I’ll climb over. I’ll go in first and clear out any combatants. Bolin, when I sound the all clear, you—” 

“That’s a terrible plan, General,” Asami interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, it’s a terrible plan. First of all, you don’t know anything about mecha. I’m sorry, but it’s pretty clear that you don’t. Anything could be in that hangar, but even if you see it you’ll have no idea what it does until it flattens you. And if that doesn’t turn you to goo, you’re ruining our odds anyway. With the two of us back here, everyone in the hangar will swarm you. I know you’ve got experience, but can you really fight ten people at once? Or even five? And whoever you can’t handle will have a clear path to the aircraft long before Bolin and I can reach them.”

Iroh stared at her. He didn’t know what to say to that. She was right, of course; at least, if you were optimizing for the outcome of the mission and not simply for the safety of two young, inexperienced people whom you’d realized you liked very much.

“Here’s what we do,” she continued. “Once we get past those fence posts, we’ll all run as fast as we can. There’s no way we won’t be spotted on the open ground, not with you dressed like a bright red flag. We should go in a Y. Bolin, you get ahead of those aircraft and focus on the runways. General, you destroy as many of the planes as you can. How’s your aim?”

“Uh… um,” Iroh stuttered, not having expected to be questioned. “Very good?” 

Asami nodded. “In that case, the fuel tank is right under that red and black symbol. Use it as a target. You hit that, the whole thing will explode. Meanwhile, I’ll head for the hangar. I’ll count whoever is there and do my best to identify any mecha. Then, assuming all those rocks and explosions have made it pretty obvious we’re here, I’ll just yell out whatever I see to you two and try not to die.” She looked at Iroh then, her expression a little smug. “That is, General, if you agree?”

“That’s… a perfectly good plan also,” said Iroh. It was, of course, what he should have done all along, though he had no idea how Asami Sato, with no military experience whatsoever, had come to the same conclusion. Bolin had said she was smart, but holy hell. “Especially the part where you try not to die. Bolin, on my right. Let’s go.”

"So we're really doing this?" Bolin asked. Asami nodded, a ghost of the smug smile still on her face.

Iroh felt the corner of his mouth twitch and realized, despite the danger, he was actually having fun. "Yes. I suppose we are."

Bolin grinned and gave him another salute. "Team Avatar! Without the Avatar, I guess. Team... uh... Bosamiroh?"

Iroh actually laughed at that. He couldn't help it. Bosamiroh? "Perhaps we should hold on the name," he said. 

They fanned out into a line and started moving towards the fence posts. They seemed to form a kind of loose perimeter around the property, but as they approached Iroh saw that there was nothing between them. That was odd.

“Why would there be fence posts but no fence?” Asami muttered, evidently coming to the same conclusion. She walked forwards cautiously, as if looking for something. Iroh kept pace with her, not wanting her to get too far ahead. 

The effect was instantaneous. Iroh had no more than touched the space between the fence posts when a blinding pain ripped through his body. It was everywhere, a white hot current of molten agony that was at once intangible and all-consuming. It felt like his very bones had been set on fire. He cried out, unable to help himself, and then it was too much. His vision grayed, then faded into darkness.

Iroh awoke to shouts, first distant, then growing closer. A moment later he realized he’d fallen. But how? The last few minutes were a blur. More shouting. Iroh tried to turn his head to see, but couldn’t quite manage it. It was like all his limbs had been turned to gelatin. A moment later rough hands grabbed him from behind, hauling him to his feet. The world spun and he leaned over, vomiting his breakfast out onto the snow. Whoever was behind him pinned his arms painfully behind his back, then started half-marching, half carrying him backwards. Iroh couldn’t do much more than let himself be dragged. 

A short while later they entered some kind of building. Hangar. It was an aircraft hangar. Slowly things were coming back to him. Airplanes. Equalists. Sato. Sato? _Asami! Bolin!_ Iroh glanced frantically around, and saw them being carried by men in the kind of dark suits that Korra and Mako had been wearing that morning. Both appeared unconscious. 

“No,” Iroh tried to shout, but it came out as a whisper. 

“Fire one’s up,” said a voice, and then Iroh felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He faded out again.


	5. FIRE

When Iroh awoke he was sitting, his back propped up against something else on the floor. His head was agony, but this time he had no trouble remembering what had happened. Someone must have hit him. He twisted quickly, trying to get his bearings, and realized instantly that he was tied. Ropes nearly as thick as his finger wrapped around his torso, pinning his elbows to his sides. Iroh made himself slow down then. Panic wouldn’t help him. Slowly, deliberately, he took stock. First, he turned his head, taking in his surroundings. He was on the concrete floor of what looked like a prison cell, facing the wall to the right of a metal grid that opened up into the mostly empty aircraft hangar. The object he’d been tied to, which he originally thought was some kind of column, was actually Bolin. That was good news. It wouldn’t be easy, but if Bolin was in a similar situation as him at least their feet were free and, if they worked together, they could turn and move around the cell. Out of the corner of his eye, Iroh could just see Asami’s head and shoulders. She was lying down, her dark hair pooled around her head, and her eyes were closed. He thought she might have her hands tied behind her back as well. But that was all he could tell without being able to move his torso.

“Asami?” he whispered. “Are you all right?

A groan behind him, then a man’s voice. “Ow.”

“Bolin!” hissed Iroh. He pitched his voice low. “Bolin, we’ve been captured, but stay calm. I need you to wake up, and I need you to tell me how Asami is.”

“Captured!” Bolin immediately began to struggle. The ropes pulled painfully at the bandage on Iroh’s left arm.

“Shh! Bolin, be quiet!”

“Sorry!” Bolin mumbled. A pause. “Asami?” Nothing. Iroh’s breath caught in his chest.

Then he heard a soft sound, somewhere between a question and a whimper. Thank goodness. If she could make a noise, at least she was breathing. 

“Bolin, are you hurt?” he whispered. 

“You betcha,” Bolin moaned. “Everything hurts.” Which probably meant he was fine. 

“Can you tell me what you see? On the other side of the cell. I can’t move much.”

“Um, well, there’s a wall. And a floor. And Asami, she’s on the floor.” Iroh sighed. Not everyone was born observant. 

Heavy footfalls sounded in the corridor. “Quiet,” said Iroh. 

“Asami,” said a deep voice. He heard Asami move. Good, she couldn’t be hurt too badly then. “Asami, I know I have hurt you, and I am sorry. But I believe that one day, you will come to your senses and we can be a family again.” Iroh was facing away with his head down, pretending to be more or less out of it, but that meant he couldn’t see the newcomer. Presumably it was Hiroshi Sato though. He had a slow, almost preachy cadence to his voice, as if lecturing to someone yet to be converted. Which, Iroh thought, might not be all that far from the truth.

“Are you insane?” Asami snapped. Iroh jumped. Wow. Okay, she was definitely fine. “How can we be a family after everything you've done? Mom would hate you for what you've become.” Iroh ventured a glance over his shoulder at Mr. Sato. He was a big, blocky man in his middle years with round golden spectacles who looked nothing at all like his daughter. As Iroh watched, his square face twitched with rage.

“How dare you?” he roared, gripping the iron bars of the cell. “I am avenging her death!” Behind him, Iroh saw a tall man in a bizarre outfit trot in from the outside. He was covered head-to-toe in the same color gray as Korra and Mako’s outfits, but in addition sported a complete helmet with big bug-eyed glasses. He looked like some weird human fish. 

“The airplanes are ready for take-off, sir,” the man said in a tinny voice.

“Good,” answered Mr. Sato. “Annihilate the fleet."

Iroh sucked in a breath, no longer able to pretend that he wasn’t awake. Annihilate the fleet? But how? The only people who knew Commander Bumi’s location were the members of Team Avatar, Gommu, and Bumi himself, and he didn’t believe for a second any one of them would betray that secret. 

Hiroshi Sato looked down at him, a nasty smile on his face. “That's right, General. I intercepted your message to Commander Bumi. I know exactly where they're hiding.” Iroh glared at him, defiant, trying to give nothing away, but the older man only turned and walked away. He was apparently done with the three of them for now. 

Once he’d left the hangar, Iroh heard Asami speak. “How are we gonna get out of here?”

“I don't suppose you know how to metalbend?” Iroh asked Bolin.

Bolin turned his head to meet Iroh’s eye. “That is a negative, sir.” Iroh scowled. That was unfortunate, though not necessarily surprising. Metalbending was as rare an ability as lightning bending among firebenders, and from what he understood Bolin was entirely self-taught. Even if he had the power for it, or however that worked among earthbenders, he might not know it yet. 

In the meantime they’d have to think of something else. If the Equalists really had intercepted his message to Commander Bumi, and Iroh had no reason to doubt that, a squadron of aircraft like the ones they’d seen on the runways could take out every battleship in minutes, even without mines. If that happened, the Equalists won. It was probably that simple. Iroh’s other commanders were all days away. With no force to challenge them, even if Avatar Korra was successful in taking down Amon, there was no reason someone like Hiroshi Sato couldn’t immediately take his place, and make him a martyr in the bargain. 

Iroh turned and examined the bars. If he’d had his arms free he might be able to cut through the metal with his firebending, but he had no chance at all with his arms bound. Firebending was largely about movement; channeling the energies inside yourself, focusing them, and finally bending them to your will. With enough practice one could do the low power stuff without much motion—keeping oneself warm in the snow, for instance—but for anything bigger than lighting a match he needed to move. Which meant getting untied. 

“Asami, I can’t see you,” he said. “I assume you’re tied as well?”

“Yes. Hands behind my back.” 

So he’d been right. “Okay. My arms are tied, but they left my hands in front of me. I can’t move them much, but if you can get close enough I might be able to untie you.” Spirits, she’d basically have to be sitting in his lap though. He tried not to think about it too hard. Whatever got them out.

“All right.” He heard her start to move. 

A huge bang shook the air. It sounded like someone had thrown a boulder at one of the metal doors to the hangar. It was followed by a growl and the sound of heavy running footsteps. Then Naga the polar bear dog skidded into view. Iroh saw her first, Pabu riding on her massive shoulders, but apparently Bolin knew the sound. “Naga!” he called. “Over here!”

Naga stopped in front of the cell, then reared up on her hind paws as Pabu jumped down to Bolin. Iroh leaned away and closed his eyes. The polar bear dog slammed her front paws into the metal bars of the cell once, twice, and then they tore apart like so much paper under her massive weight.

Bolin turned his head back to Iroh and grinned. “Who needs a metalbender? We got Naga! Yeah!”

“But how did she find us?” Iroh asked.

“Fire ferrets are great trackers. Pabu here is a pro. Aren’t you, little buddy?” Pabu’s sharp teeth were making short work of the ropes as well. “He’s used to finding stuff back in the city. I’m sure in the snow we stuck out like, um, a guy dressed in a bright red United Forces uniform?”

Iroh chuckled. “You know the red is on purpose, right?”

“What do you mean?” Asami asked. “I thought it was just a holdover from the Fire Nation army?”

Iroh shook his head, rubbing his arms as the ropes dropped away. He then knelt beside Asami, untying the ropes at her hands while Bolin patted Pabu. “No. Fire Nation uniforms are mostly black, brown, or gray, with red piping. Actually not all that different from your Future Industries suit, Miss Sato. The United Forces colors are crimson and gold on white. The uniforms are visible at a distance against any natural formation, and in almost any light. We’re a peacekeeping force, a deterrent. We _want_ to be seen.”

“I had no idea,” Asami said, rubbing her wrists. It was his turn to offer her his hand now, helping her to her feet. Asami looked down at herself. “Do I really look like I’m from the Fire Nation?”

“Definitely not,” Iroh said firmly, not thinking. To his surprise Asami colored, then looked down at her feet. “No!” he said, realizing his mistake. “Not in a good way.” _Shit._ That wasn’t right either. He gestured helplessly at her outfit. “What I mean is, it looks really good. The colors! Colors. Are what look good. They suit you. They’re very… and with the green… and in a not-Fire Nation army way, is what I...” Iroh ran one hand through his hair and made himself stop talking. Spirits, what on earth was wrong with his brain? _‘Your outfit is very nice, Miss Sato, and does not look like a Fire Nation army uniform.’ Is that so hard, Iroh?_

“So, airplanes?” Bolin asked.

“Airplanes,” Iroh said gratefully, then started jogging to the open doors of the hangar. “Definitely time for airplanes.” 

***

The three of them ran out of the front door of the hangar, Naga at their heels, but the aircraft were already moving. There was one on each of the five runways now, all somewhere between taxi and takeoff. Five planes, five directions. Iroh swore under his breath. If Bumi’s location was known, he had to stop the planes by any means necessary. Which meant that he needed to go after them. Bolin and Asami would have to handle whoever had stayed behind at the airfield alone. But each of them had proven themselves far more capable than Iroh had imagined. He’d have to trust his team.

Iroh, running full speed, was already well out in front of the group. He had long legs, and had always been fast. “I'm going after those airplanes!” he shouted, not looking back, then sprinted as fast as he possibly could down the centermost runway. 

He held nothing back. Instead he dashed for the closest plane with every ounce of strength he had. There wasn’t time to stop and hit it with fire; even if he landed the shot, the other aircraft would soon be well out of reach. No matter what, Iroh had to find a way to get into the air. If he couldn’t, it would be yesterday all over again. Another surprise; another disaster. 

When he was about 20 feet from the plane he jumped, pushing as much hot, compact fire as he could out of his closed fists at the same time. He rocketed forwards, propelled by his bending, and was just able to wrap his fingers around a tiedown loop on the top of the tail. Unfortunately he’d grabbed it with his left hand, which promptly put his entire weight on his injured arm. Iroh gritted his teeth as the delicate skin over the burn began to tear, but he held on anyway. He had to.

He carefully adjusted his grip, then swung himself a little and managed to grab hold with his other hand. They were well and truly in the air now, perhaps 200 feet up. There would be no margin for error. Iroh pulled himself up on top of the plane, all the while studying the angles and trying as hard as he could to silence the voice inside him that was screaming that he was insane, this was insane, _and Iroh what are you doing on top of an airplane that is actually in the air this is the worst idea you have ever had in your life!_ He shoved the voice aside, mentally parking it somewhere with the pain in his arm and the back of his head; something to deal with later. Assuming, of course, that this didn’t kill him.

Iroh ran towards the nose, head bent against the wind. About halfway there he threw himself down and slid to the right. He grasped the back of the wing, just above the joint, and his body fell over the side. But instead of falling, he used his weight to swing himself underneath the wing at an angle. The surprised pilot spun and let out a yelp; that was all he had time for. Iroh’s feet hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him up and over the edge. The movement tore at his burn again, but he was so high on adrenaline now that he barely noticed.

Iroh landed feet-first in the cockpit, hardly daring to believe that had worked. He peered over the edge and saw a parachute open below him. _Good._ He would kill if he had to, but was always glad when he didn’t. Now came the hard part. Iroh had been so focused on getting to the plane that he hadn’t thought about the fact that he’d never even seen one up close, let alone flown it. To his surprise there was no steering wheel, like on a ship. Instead, the cockpit consisted of little more than a place to sit and a long metal stick. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Iroh sat back and grabbed the stick in both hands as the plane began to wobble. He’d have to try something or he’d crash for sure. Abruptly he pulled the stick towards him, thinking that might speed the plane up, like pressing a lever on a manufacturing line. To his surprise the plane jerked upwards. Iroh yelped and pushed back, sending the aircraft into a nosedive. He swore loudly and pulled again, trying not to yank on it, and heaved a sigh of relief as the plane evened out. All right then. Pull one way for up, the other for down. He tested side to side, and with a bit more wobbling proved a similar principle. So, it was essentially a giant toggle. That made sense for maneuvering in three dimensions, but at the same time Iroh wished there had been a more intuitive way to go about it, or that he’d at least thought to ask Asami Sato how to fly. If she raced motorbikes, he bet she was a hell of a pilot. Yet after a few minutes he more or less got the hang of it. The trick seemed to be to point the plane in the right direction and then leave the stick alone for as long as he could help it. 

Eventually Iroh spotted another, smaller mechanism embedded in the body of the plane above his left knee. It had a flat, round knob at one end, rather like the spring on a pinball machine. He looked at it for a long time. He had absolutely no clue what it did. None. It could be anything from opening the fuel tank to ejecting the pilot. But Iroh also hadn’t figured out how to accelerate; there had to be a way to do that, right? The central stick seemed to be for direction only though. At this rate he’d never catch up to the other aircraft. He took a deep breath and closed his hand around the mechanism. One heartbeat. Two. Three.

Iroh pulled the lever. Metal squealed and the plane abruptly jagged up. He let go with a snap and grabbed the stick again, nudging as delicately as he could to right the aircraft while trying not to panic, not understanding what had happened until he heard the whistling noise of the bombs. Iroh peered over the side and saw four of them, long and sleek, their metal casings glinting in the sunlight as they tumbled to the ground. Far below, the snow of the peaks had given way to thick forest. Iroh breathed a sigh of relief. It was a waste of forest, but at least it seemed uninhabited. He started to think about what would have happened if he’d tried that over Republic City, then stopped himself. That wasn’t helpful. 

Instead, he refocused on keeping the plane as straight as he could and not, under any circumstances, touching any other mechanisms on the aircraft. Soon he was out of the mountains entirely, Republic City laid out glittering before him in the late afternoon sun. The journey that had taken Iroh, Asami, and Bolin much of the day had gone by in less than ten minutes. What an age they were living in. 

It was now easy enough to spot the remaining aircraft. Five dark gray planes flew ahead of him in a horizontal line towards the city and the sea beyond. But Iroh was quickly gaining on them. He’d never found a throttle, but he suspected that having shed the weight of the bombs had given him a significant edge. Perhaps he could actually pull this off. 

Soon he was within only 50 feet or so of the nearest aircraft. He didn’t know if the other pilots had seen that he’d replaced the original pilot, but he suspected they hadn’t since they’d let him get so close. So much for his obvious red uniform. He’d only get one shot before he blew his cover though, and he needed to make it a good one. Iroh stood, careful not to nudge the stick, and started breathing, slow and deep, trying to empty himself of all emotion. It was hard to do even safe on the ground, but Iroh had always had a knack for concentration. Perhaps it was being quiet, and prone to introspection; perhaps something else entirely. Either way, the talent had allowed him to master the most advanced firebending techniques at a fairly young age. Including, of course, lightning bending. 

Lightning bending was to firebenders what bloodbending was to waterbenders, or metalbending to earthbenders. It was not only difficult, but often downright impossible for most, because it required a combination of both skill and raw power. The mental aspects were just as important as the physical ones, if not more so. Iroh breathed steadily, taking his time, focusing on gathering the swirling energies inside him and then pulling them, stretching them apart until he simply couldn’t. Then he drew back his arm as if pulling a bowstring, opened his eyes, and as he thrust his hand forwards he released. 

Blue-white lightning flew from his outstretched fingertips. It arced across the sky in a flash of light and hit the back of the plane directly in front of him. The tail of the plane exploded in a bright orange cloud, sending the remaining wreckage spinning into the wing of the one directly to its left. The wing ignited and the second plane began to tip. Both pilots ejected, trailing their white parachutes. Iroh grinned. Two for one. For a sneak attack, that hadn’t been too shabby. 

That left three planes. But now the Equalists knew he was here. Immediately two of them began to dive while the third pulled up. They were splitting up, forcing him to pick a target. Iroh doubted he’d hit two at once again, so he opted for the lone aircraft and eased his own into a steady climb. 

Iroh was closing in when a compartment opened on the back of the plane in front of him. For a split second he thought it was another bomb. Then it began to spin, fanning out into a large bola. At first he didn’t understand—bolas were generally used to trip people, tangling around their legs or ankles. But there was nothing to trip in the air. Then he got it. The propeller. If that jammed, the plane would simply fall out of the sky. 

The bola hit the propeller dead center and snarled in the blades. Iroh had no choice, he’d never be able to fix it. He vaulted over the side of the cockpit and started to free fall. He could see the two remaining planes now, far below him and out in front. 

Four seconds later the airplane exploded above him. Iroh yelled in surprise. Jamming the propeller made the aircraft explode?! Asami had been right, he really didn’t know anything about mecha, and thank the spirits he’d bailed instead of trying to ride out a glide. But… now what? He swallowed hard, willing himself to think, _think Iroh,_ and not about the fact that the sharp spikes and spires above Republic City were rapidly rising up to meet him. There had always been a chance he’d die doing this, and not a bad chance either, but those last two planes still carried enough bombs between them to do a lot of harm. He had to stop them.

 _Okay,_ he thought. _Here goes nothing._ Iroh took a deep breath, held it, and focused. Then he pushed fire out of his hands and feet as hard as he possibly could. He might not have a plane anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have propulsion. He rocketed forwards, still falling, but at least now falling at an angle towards the two remaining aircraft. If he missed, he’d die, he didn’t see how he wouldn’t. It wasn’t like he could actually fly… right? 

Iroh didn’t miss. Instead, he landed with a thud on the top of the hindmost plane. He immediately sighted the plane in front of him, looking for the symbol Asami had said indicated the fuel tank. But the plane was almost directly in front of him, and he couldn’t see the sides. Besides, detonating the fuel tank would probably kill the pilot instantly. They were also over the city now; any explosions up here might hit civilians. But he needed to take it out, and right now.

 _Fuck it,_ Iroh thought, _I can do this._ He wasn’t going to hurt anybody if he didn’t have to. Instead of center mass he sent a short, hard blast of fire at the right wing. He was 150 feet away at least, a nearly impossible shot on a moving target in the wind, but he hit the right propeller with almost surgical precision. He hadn’t been lying earlier; he’d always had excellent aim. The engine exploded in a shower of wrecked mecha, leaving nothing but a smoking stump on the end of the wing, and the plane began to tip into a gentle spiral. It was clearly out of the fight, but with any luck the pilot could bump it down outside city limits.

But the pilot under him knew he was here now. The plane banked sharply left, tossing Iroh down onto the roof. He scrabbled at the sleek metal, trying to find something to hold onto, but there was nothing and he felt himself sliding over the side. Iroh grabbed at the edge of the wing as he fell and found just enough purchase to swing himself under again. Amazingly, the same move he’d used on the first plane worked a second time. He hit the pilot with his legs, this time sending a short blast of fire out of his feet to help him along. The man bent over backwards with a squawk, and was gone. 

Iroh settled down in the cockpit, breathing hard. He couldn’t believe it. He’d done it. There had been five planes, plus the one that he’d started in, and he’d somehow gotten all of them. He reached up and pushed his hair out of his face, took a quick look around, then started to laugh. At first it was nothing more than a quiet chuckle, but the more he thought about it the funnier it seemed. He’d actually firebent himself onto a plane. Multiple planes. _In mid-air._ And that last shot, wow! The next time someone asked him for a campfire story, boy, did he have one. Before long he was heaving, tears streaming down his cheeks. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like that. It felt really, really good. Suddenly something inside him, something he thought he’d bottled up and locked away years ago, simply let go. Iroh tipped his head back and whooped with joy. 

A blast rocked the aircraft. He spun in his seat to see the whole tail on fire. _What?_ He’d gotten all the planes, hadn’t he? Except… there had been five planes on five runways. But by the time Iroh had boarded the first one, there had been five planes in front of him. At least one had taken off early. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to believe it had been two. After all, there were seven battleships in a fleet. Why not seven planes in a squadron? One for each ship. 

Iroh looked frantically around but saw nothing as the plane began to shake. He was having trouble keeping it straight now, the blast having knocked out the rudder. But the explosions were caused by bombs. Bombs fell down. Iroh got to his feet and leaned back, looking up, just in time to see the seventh plane pull even with his own overhead. The bomb compartment started to open. He didn’t think. Iroh bent his knees and then jumped, extending his left arm and pushing as much fire as he could muster into a white hot ball of flame. The blast shot upwards, hitting the falling bombs no more than five feet from the plane above. Everything exploded in an enormous cloud of fire and screaming metal. This time there was no pretending. Iroh had just killed someone.

He glanced back at the tail. It was bad. Clouds of thick black smoke billowed from the wreckage. It was clear that there was no way he could fly it now. He’d have to land it or bail again. Iroh climbed back down into the cockpit and looked up. Scratch that. He was going to have to bail. He’d had no idea he’d already overshot the city. But he must have, because looming right in front of him was the giant statue of Avatar Aang. 

Iroh looked around, thinking fast. A water landing wasn’t the worst thing in the world under the circumstances, especially if he could firebend again to soften the blow, but if he hit too hard and got knocked unconscious there’d be no Avatar Korra to save him this time. Still, his options were limited. It was either jump now and chance it, or smash into Aang riding two tons of mecha loaded with bombs. Iroh stood again, then spotted the banners. _Maybe…_ It was a crazy thought, but after all, Iroh had been doing nothing but crazy things since he’d left the airfield. He made himself wait, trying to time it, then jumped. 

Amazingly, he felt his hands close around the edge of the Equalist banner. But Iroh was heavy, and no match for the thin fabric, especially falling at speed. It tore easily in his hands and he plummeted, shredding a long strip of banner down the side as he went. But with every foot he slowed, the increasing resistance from the tearing fabric halting the fall. Finally, he stopped. He was dangling from a curled piece of fabric no thicker than two fingers, his body slowly revolving in the gentle breeze. 

The airplane hit the defaced statue of Avatar Aang in the face with a clang. It exploded, bombs and all, then fell flaming into the sea below. He heard a groan of metal, then a slow screech. Slowly, the horrible mask that had been placed over Aang’s face began to tilt, then tip. Finally, it fell away, following the plane to the bottom of the bay. Iroh hoped it stayed there.

Which was, incidentally, the same thought he had about himself. He looked down and swallowed hard. He had to be 500 feet up. Then he looked up. He instantly regretted it. The banner he hung from had torn almost all the way through. Only the last few feet remained attached. It had been far, far closer than Iroh was comfortable with. 

Finally, he looked at the statue. The smiling face of Avatar Aang stared back, nearly at eye level, his stony gaze seemingly fixed entirely on Iroh. It couldn’t be his doing though. Aang was dead. Korra was proof enough of that. Still, something about it felt a bit too lucky. 

“Thanks for looking out for me, Aang,” Iroh said. After all, it never hurt to say thank you.


	6. TURNING THE TIDE

Iroh couldn’t say why he did it. He had every reason in the world to return immediately to the fleet, or to Tenzin and the city council, or even to search out Avatar Korra. His focus now should be on the aftermath, both ensuring a return to normalcy in Republic City and beginning to rebuild the fleet. There were wounded to visit, requisitions to sign, and a need for a coordinated plan to root out any remaining Equalist threats. It was a lot of work, and important work besides. The sooner Iroh got started, the better.

Instead, he’d come back to the secret airfield. He told himself it was because Asami and Bolin had been his responsibility. He wouldn’t be comfortable not knowing if they were all right. But he could always have sent scouts, or a transport. Even though he hadn’t been gone more than an hour, real firefights were fast. Whatever had happened here would be long over by now. There was no reason for him to come himself. But he had.

It had turned out that Iroh _could_ fly, after a fashion. He’d probably never call it that, but he’d needed a way to get down from the statue and after half an hour, his arms burning with the effort, it had become clear that no one was coming to help him. He could have climbed up the fabric, he supposed, but with so little left attached he didn’t want to chance it. So instead, nearly at the end of his strength, he’d taken a gamble and dropped, pushing fire out of his hands and feet in the same way he’d done when he’d bailed out of the first plane. It was disorienting at first, but like the aircraft itself he quickly figured out how to stabilize himself, falling into a controlled glide that he felt confident could at least carry him back to the docks. But somehow, he’d just kept going. When Iroh had realized that he’d passed Republic City entirely and was headed back into the mountains, he’d been just as surprised as anyone.

His time hanging on the statue hadn’t been wasted, however. Iroh had always been active, but was by nature an observer nonetheless. One of his highest compliments was that something was interesting, though not everyone took it that way. So it was that from his high vantage point he’d watched what he hoped was the final battle between the Avatar and Amon outside the ruined bending arena. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d seen, being too far away to see details, but there weren’t many benders able to do the kind of firebending and waterbending he’d witnessed. And if Avatar Korra had let loose that kind of power, it must mean she was both alive and had avoided losing her bending. Iroh had to hope that was enough to call it a victory.

He couldn’t say the same thing about his own battle. Of the seven ships that had sailed into Yue Bay, only one, the command ship he’d been on himself, seemed even salvageable. He was lucky he’d remembered there’d been seven, too; hanging from the banner he could only see five, the two on the southernmost wing having apparently sunk entirely. The others were in various stages of more or less doing the same. The back half of the _Fire Lance_ was completely underwater, her prow pointing up at about 30 degrees like an accusing finger. The ship next to her, the _Hakoda,_ was almost sideways, the two blackened holes in her hull open to the sky. 

It was an utter, unmitigated disaster, and Iroh knew he’d have to answer for it. In a lot of ways, being General of the United Forces probably wasn’t all that unlike being the Avatar. If things were going well, you were popular, or maybe simply ignored. If things weren’t, you were to blame. It rarely mattered if little of either had been in your control. You were a symbol as much as an asset. The fact that it hadn’t been his fault—it had been a surprise attack, and he’d had bad intelligence besides—was probably the only thing keeping him from screaming. Iroh took casualties hard, always had, and with any luck always would. Some things had no business getting easier.

If he could, Iroh went to the funerals of any men and women killed in action. The United Forces didn’t lose people often, so it was manageable. He hated it, standing there like a crimson pillar in a sea of grief, but he made himself do it anyway because it was important. Sometimes the families blamed him, and that was hard, but far, far more often they told him how grateful they were that the United Forces had valued their loved one enough for him to show up. Looking down at the remains of the fleet, Iroh knew he’d be doing a lot of showing up in the near future. He’d never gotten that casualty report from Tenzin or anyone else, but you didn’t have to be in the military to know it was going to be bad.

Iroh had landed on the hidden airfield’s central runway almost too tired to walk. Fire wasn’t a finite resource, but the ability to bend it was. It was like any other exercise. Any combination of natural talent and practice would help your power, skill, and endurance, but nothing could let you go forever. If you were tired, or injured, or in his case both, that also cut down on your abilities. Iroh was a firebending heavyweight, and had been training since the time he was four, but he’d barely managed the journey all the same. He might not have made it at all if he hadn’t had a combination of fear and adrenaline to push him beyond his normal limits. In retrospect, it had been the kind of sloppy, dangerous idea that he usually avoided. Yet here he was.

He scanned his surroundings as he caught his breath. The wind had picked up a little, blowing blessedly cool across his hot face, and moaned softly as it echoed through the hangar. The airfield was a mess. Huge chunks of the runway were simply gone, the rest pushed up into big ridges or resting atop crushed mecha. It was downright impressive—Iroh had always secretly been a little envious of earthbenders, and this was serious work. Bolin might be young, but like Asami he was far more powerful than Iroh had thought. Mako was likely the same. Only yesterday he’d been worried that Korra had surrounded herself with little more than a bunch of teenage amateurs. How wrong he’d been about all of them. 

Iroh picked his way down the shattered airstrip, keeping an eye out for any movement. But the facility was clearly deserted. He walked all the way up to the hangar anyway, just in case. The inside was strewn with rocks and wrecked mecha, and someone had burned a huge hole in the back wall. The two big mecha tanks in the middle appeared to have actually torn one another open, but when he examined the driver’s seats there didn’t seem to be any blood. In fact, there was no more sign of either of his companions inside the hangar, nor anyone else, then there had been on the runways. 

He tried his hardest not to worry. There had been a dozen men or more here, and likely had been for days, but most had been pilots. With the planes gone, the few people left behind would have had to go on foot through the mountains. Even a crack army couldn’t have packed up a facility like this for a trip in the snow, with prisoners, in the mere hour he’d been gone; let alone a few volunteers with, at most, a month’s training. If the Equalists had prevailed, they certainly would have still been here. It was therefore probable that Asami and Bolin had managed to stop Hiroshi Sato and either captured him or, more likely, forced him and anyone with him to flee quickly. They’d then either given chase on Naga, or—hopefully—started the return journey to Republic City.

Next Iroh walked the perimeter of the hangar. He was surprised to find no tracks, either human or polar bear dog, leading off into the wilderness. There was plenty of activity around the airfield, but the only tracks that led anywhere out of the valley was a trampled path where he and the others had come in. Asami and Bolin must have gone back then, and with Hiroshi Sato and any other Equalists in tow as well. Amazing. Iroh felt something loosen in his chest. They were probably safe.

But with that relief came another feeling. It was clear that neither of them had anticipated his return. He hadn’t been gone all that long, but Asami and Bolin had rushed back to Republic City as soon as they could. Of course, it made perfect sense. That’s where their friends were, their families, boyfriends. And it wasn’t like he’d told them to wait. Besides, no one had come for him while he hung from Aang’s statue, either. Not that Iroh had expected it. Why would he? 

There was nothing left to do now but go back himself. Yet for some reason the idea suddenly seemed bitter. Instead Iroh went back to the runway, angrily kicking a rock out of the way with one black boot. He knew he was stalling, but why? He didn’t know what exactly he’d wanted to find here, let alone why not finding it was making him upset. 

Finally, he ran out of excuses. Iroh absently fingered the bandage on his arm. He should probably change it soon, and now that the adrenaline had worn off it hurt quite a bit. He had proper supplies in his quarters though, assuming he could get out to the ship; no one would bother him there. Besides, the sun was low in the sky, and it was a long way back to Republic City. He was exhausted, and firebending was out of the question. It would be slow going without the polar bear dog, but it was easy enough to follow the trail of packed snow she’d left behind. He’d manage, but he’d better get started. 

Iroh slowly climbed the ridge, then took one look back at the destroyed airfield. They’d done good work today, work to be proud of, yet for some reason the sight made him sad. The truth was, the time spent working with the Avatar and her friends had been some of the most rewarding work he’d done lately. It had been a long time since he’d done something scrappy and daring. It had felt good. Great, even. What’s more, he’d enjoyed being part of a team, rather than simply in charge. They’d had each other’s backs, swapped ideas, worked together to solve problems. For a short time Iroh had felt, if not necessarily like he belonged, at least that maybe one day he could, and that Korra, Mako, Bolin, and Asami were the kinds of people he might one day be proud to call friends. Now, it was over.

 _There’s no “I” in Team Avatar,_ Asami had said, her soft hand slipping into his own. And she’d been right. There was no “I” in Team Avatar because there was no Iroh. He knew that now; maybe some part of him had always known that. She— _they_ —already had a firebender, and two if you counted Korra. It had been fun, and he was glad that he’d helped in his small way, but they had different paths now. And if there had briefly been an “I” in Bosamiroh, well, what of it? It had always been a stupid name.

Iroh would spend another week in Republic City at most cleaning up his mess, then ship out. Chances were no one would even say goodbye. After all, they hardly knew him from anybody. He’d propose to Azaia on his next shore leave, buy them both a nice house he’d barely live in. Iroh was terrible at politics, but with Azaia by his side he’d rise quickly, soon resigning from the United Forces and securing something prestigious and mostly symbolic closer to home. After all, it wasn’t like he had to work. Every few months they would vacation on the south side of Ember Island with the exact same people they saw every day in the capital, trading hosting duties between each of their large, lavish houses. Eventually they’d have a couple of kids, none of whom had big green eyes. Iroh would love them to death but send them to boarding school anyway, or maybe the academy, because that’s what you did, and when they grew up they would hardly know him. He’d see his family on holidays, do whatever royal duties Azaia told him were important, and meet who he needed to meet at events he that needed to go to. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to tell one year from the next, a lifetime gone by in a blur of handshakes and haircuts. Then, he’d die.

Iroh thought about dangling from the Avatar’s statue, his arms shaking with effort, and wondered why exactly he’d tried so hard to hold on.

He stopped. What the hell was he doing? He knew he was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He’d been badly electrocuted, too. And he was potentially facing having commanded the largest defeat in United Forces history. It was more than enough to put anyone in a bad mood. But that was different than the darker thoughts he’d just had. Those came from a deep place, a hidden place, a place of desperate, howling loneliness that until now Iroh hadn’t even known existed. 

He shook his head. He had to stop this. His life wasn’t pointless. Iroh protected; he served. He did things other people thought were brave. And today, he’d helped Asami stop her father and survive it, and Bolin as well. Taking Mr. Sato out of the equation would help ensure that the Equalists lost both a second potential leader and their main financial backer, which would make the peace he hoped the Avatar had created sustainable. It wouldn’t be easy, but it also meant Asami could start moving on now. Maybe smile a bit more. There was no way to argue that wasn’t a good thing for the world. 

So Iroh wasn’t part of Team Avatar. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have a life worth living. In fact, he decided he was going to demand it. He only got the one. It could be a challenge, a project to throw himself into on the calm days that always troubled him. He loved the United Forces, and though the fleet had taken a pounding he was still damned good at his job, and he knew it. He’d start by recruiting more non-benders—a lot more. After all, it was his decision. Not just crew and maintenance either, but fighters, strategists. People like Asami Sato, with the brains and guts to make a difference even if they couldn’t bend so much as a candle flame. He’d find them, recruit them, and ensure they were never treated differently from any bender. He’d make sure they knew they belonged on his team.

Next, he’d bring more mecha into the United Forces. Tanks, planes, you name it. The same with chi blocking techniques. The old guard wouldn’t like it any more than they’d like non-benders in combat, but they’d have to get over it. He’d even set up a task force to keep up on the trends. In fact, there were all kinds of things that he could learn that would help the Forces. Maybe it shouldn’t be novels, but Iroh could certainly read on duty if he really wanted to. He was the goddamned general now. Who was going to tell him no? During his downtime he could study the kinds of things that had completely fascinated him even a few short years ago: history, culture, languages; everything that had made him join the United Forces in the first place. You couldn’t argue there weren’t practical applications for that. And if a quiet, thinking, reading man didn’t fit the image of the General of the United Forces, the council could fire him. The world was changing, and yet shrinking at the same time. Iroh wasn’t about to let good men and women die on his watch because the UF refused to adapt. 

Then he would end things with Azaia. It was as much for her as it was for him. She’d never be happy with him and, though she may not wind up with a prince, he hoped one day she’d thank him for it. As for him, Iroh abruptly vowed not to settle. He had to believe he deserved more than that, that everyone did. Maybe there wasn’t a big love in store for him, one perfectly imperfect person who would fit against him like a puzzle piece, but he still had small love. That was good, too. Iroh had friends, and would make more. There was his family, and the United Forces, which was a kind of family all its own. It was more than a lot of people had. Besides, he still got a choice. He couldn’t control whether or not he did find Love, the kind with the capital letter, but he could decide to keep looking all the same. That was something. Maybe that was everything.

And if, as he thought about the kind of partner he wanted, Iroh mentally added a few new things to the list, what of it? If he’d learned anything, it was that the world was a big place full of all kinds of people. The more days you lived, the more of those people you met. Any one of them might surprise you. Who knew who Iroh might meet tomorrow?

Then, once matters in Republic City were stable, he would take a vacation. He’d never been good at breaks, but he’d make himself do it anyway. He’d find someplace peaceful and far away and stay for at least a few weeks. Maybe a little hotel on a quiet beach, or a cottage; somewhere he could just be Iroh. He’d go for long runs in the morning where no one would flinch at his scars. Or perhaps he could firebend, _really_ firebend, the kind of work he could only manage when he had nothing but calm and space. He’d bring as many books as he could carry, on anything he wanted, and read them whenever he pleased. He’d swim when he got too hot, nap when he got too tired, flash-fish and firebend his catch right there on the beach. Hell, he could dig holes in the sand and pretend to be an earthbender like he’d done as a kid. Maybe there would even be bioluminescent fire clams. 

But most of all, he would think. Not about what he didn’t have, but about what he wanted to do with what he did. It didn’t mean giving up on all his dreams. He just needed a different dream. Luckily, Iroh had always been a dreamer.

He took one last look around, smiled a little, then started to walk.


End file.
